


Pen, Dragon, Slayer

by PDV



Category: The Laundry Files - Charles Stross
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, If you're Anglican this is probably blasphemous or something, Only Very Technically A Crossover, luckily I'm an atheist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PDV/pseuds/PDV
Summary: The British Government is controlled by Nyarlathotep and an entirely different eldritch monstrosity is wandering the countryside, looking for dense computational networks to eat. Alex Schwartz is willing to try a desperate play to fix the latter.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Pen, Dragon, Slayer

**Author's Note:**

> I do not like the work's name at all, happy to take suggestions.

"Hostiles will be here in three hours. What have we got, Alex?"

"One PHANG, obviously, three SAS with hands of glory and banishment rounds, the mobile SCORPION STARE platform (unarmored), the three civilian persons of interest the cult nabbed, two bound cultists, a pair of Vespas, cut communications and no word of backup, and best I can tell no remotely defensible position nearby except this old folly."

"And that's against an incursion by a battalion's worth of feeder infantry with the Sleeper in the Pyramid's little brother in command."

"Correct."

"Bloody hell. And the Vespas couldn't outpace them."

"They could not. On good roads, maybe, but since they'll go overland they'd still cut us off easily before we got anywhere; one of the gopher's mobes had a saved Google Map and I checked."

"Good initiative, not that it'll do us any bloody good now."

"The cultists are a liability, but if you'll allow me to elaborate they are potentially also an asset."

"Sod it all... Go ahead."

"This site has a minor thaum field and it increased as the cultists approached with the POIs. Most potential rituals would be bad news, but it could be worth a punt."

"If that goes wrong we're paging through CASE NIGHTMARE RAINBOW picking at random."

"If we do nothing I believe we're looking at multiple instances of GOD GAME RAINBOW hitting London totally unawares, sir. And when they hit the City, that's a recipe for rapid-fire CASE NIGHTMARE YELLOW worldwide."

"Risk assessment, then: How do you rate your chances of distinguishing potentially helpful rituals from catastrophic?"

Alex had expected this question, but the reply stuck in his throat nonetheless. "Ah. Under the time constraints we have here, I believe I can manage to catch nine harmful rituals out of ten in time to veto them, with about one in three per possibility powerful enough to be useful that I veto it even if it's benign. I could get the latter down to one in eight, I think, but at that threshold of scrutiny I'd only catch about half of the doom-bringers."

"Nine in ten... you can investigate, but don't start anything without my signoff if you can help it. Using PHANG mind-whammy on the cultists is authorized without restriction. Go find us a miracle."

"Understood, and I'll do my best on all counts. Can I commandeer Sunshine to question the civilians?"

"Leave it to his discretion, but go ahead."

"Will do."

There was no time to lose, so he headed off to find Sunshine. It didn't take long, as it happened.

"Mr. Woods! With me for a moment, please, I've spoken with Bones and have a plan to try."

He stopped, and turned to walk alongside.

"Dr. Schwartz? What's your orders, then?"

"Not orders; he said, quote, 'leave it to his discretion, but go ahead'. Have you given a thought to our chances if we play it safe?"

"Not the rosiest."

"Indeed. So I've proposed a high-variance strategy. I'm going to interrogate the cultist prisoners and see what their planned ritual was; thaum fields were moving as they approached so it might be fruitful, and being a PHANG makes it less dodgy than usual for a hostile interrogation. I'd like you to get what you can from the civilians they had in train, and assess if any of them are hostile."

"Your plan is to conduct a ritual _blindly_?"

"There's a big difference between _mostly_ blindly and _totally_ blindly"

"Which is?"

"One _might_ be an improvement. We're looking at something from CASE NIGHTMARE RAINBOW if this doesn't get resolved, starting from the City and headed outward at the speed of finance."

"Quite. Alright, I'm on board."

"Excellent. Were the prisoners moved since I saw them?"

"Shouldn't be. Luck to you."

"And to you."

Their paths split, Sunshine headed to what were probably, at some point in the past, rooms above ground, and Alex into the - caves? dungeons? - underground pieces of the ruin. They weren't deep, but they weren't open to the air on three sides so they were better places to keep hostiles.

He nodded to the guard. "Jones, right? Bones authorized me to interrogate the cultists PHANG style, see if I can find a path out of the mess incoming. Confirm it if you'd like."

"Nah. Go on in, lad."

It grated on him to be called 'lad', but Jones probably killed men before Alex was even born, so it's not like he hadn't earned it. 

Alex cleared his throat, "Right", and went on in. There's the cultist, gagged and loosely bound. Whammy first? Probably. He walked up and raised the man's eyes to his, and concentrated. _"I want to know all about your brotherhood and what you were doing, and you're positively giddy to tell me. Helping me out is great; making trouble for anyone else here will keep you from doing that. Understand?"_

The man nodded emphatically.

"Right. One moment, then."

In much closer to a single moment than most people could manage, Alex ungagged him, leaving the ropes in place. He pulls out his phone, with a note-taking app in the foreground and the mana-detector in the background, in case he's more resistant than they thought.

"Happy to help a new brother! We are here to clear the way for our master in darkness to arrive! Our plan here was to secure ritual control of Britain, symbolically forcing all powers that serve it to yield or be bound in a trap of their own power turned against them."

_Crap, a bullet well dodged there. He seems to think I'm on his side... better play along._

"Cunning! Is this ritual site the only place we could do it? Do we have brothers elsewhere trying as well?"

"The site is replaceable, brother; some scholars identify it with legendary Camelot but any of the other sites linked with the myth would serve. But the sacrifices, those I don't think we could replace."

"Why not?"

"Because the symbolic reenactment needs a rightful heir of England, a priest of the first English parish, and the English seventh son of an English seventh son. The priest wouldn't be replaced quickly, and all the more recent royal lines are either extinct or too well-guarded to catch and keep for long enough. Though the seventh son was easy."

_More recent... ?_

"I'm a tad behind; which royal line?"

"Oh, that's the beauty of it! King Arthur, the Pendragon himself! Probably even blessed by Merlin, symbolically invested with the isles! We barely dared hope the line was still around, but our holy diviners are quite certain!"

"Impressive, yes. If I may change the topic?"

"Certainly, brother"

"What other names does our master in darkness go by? There are rivals on the move in the countryside and I want to be sure we aren't scoring own goals."

"He is the Windswept Emperor, the Builder of Ruins, the Liege of Leng, Etlach Fnau, who weaves numbers into divine flesh. But I think it unlikely his servants are active; our master is jealous and secretive, and does not strike but from shadow."

"Quite. Thank you, that will be all for now. I'll return when it is time to act."

"May He weave your path well, brother!"

Alex turned away and walked quickly in pursuit of Woods. Moments after passing Jones, he stopped and turned back.

"Jones: that cultist might be trouble. And I neglected to re-gag him; he was under the impression I was on his side and I didn't want to jostle it. Mind remedying that?"

"I don't think I should leave my post, even to go in. Proper binding and gagging is a two-man job, too. Course, I could just kill him, that's quicker. If you don't think there's anything more to get from him."

Alex gagged a bit; talking about murder - execution? extrajudicial, certainly, so is there a difference? - so lightly still shocked him. "I think I've gotten everything I will... but best not. I'll give Bones a heads up and let him make the call."

"Right you are, then. Is it promising?"

"Just a tad, but yes."

On the way to the place they'd stashed the civilians of unknown provenance, he passed a couple non-combatants sitting at loose ends. Equipped with official warded warrant cards and so trustworthy signatories-in-blood of the official secrets act, but useless in a field scenario like this. With field radios down, though...

"Hey, can you play messenger for a tick?"

"What? Oh, sure, I'm going a bit spare here. Stone, was it?"

"Schwartz, actually. But thanks. Message is for Bones, from Schwartz. Interrogated hostile, had him convinced I was friendly. Gathered potentially promising lead into the provenance of the civilians found. Left captive ungagged, to avoid spoiling his impression of friendliness; Unlikely to get further intelligence from him. Agent Jones did not wish to leave his post to re-gag the captive, suggested field expedience. I leave the decision of what to do and who to give the task in your hands. Consulting with civilians and Sunshine now. Message ends. Got all that?"

"Got it down in shorthand on my mobile. Shall I read it back?"

"No need, better to be off sooner. Thanks."

_Right, that's sorted,_ he thought. With a niggling whisper in the back of his head saying _and letting you stay squeamish, oh drinker of cancer patient's blood_.

He hurried onward, trying to outrun the misgiving. Luckily it wasn't far ~~to the next available distraction~~.

"Mr. Woods, have you gotten anywhere?"

"Not much. The lady is the priest of a small church in London - of England, not Rome, we checked - but the other two seem to be nobodies. Names don't match any common numerological patterns or anagrams that I can find."

"Is one of them his father's seventh son?"

" _That_ folk tale? I didn't ask."

"Please do. Then I want to talk to the other one; he might be our best hope."

"Do tell?"

"Don't want to prejudice you, I'll tell you in a bit."

"Sensible. I'll check."

Alex had a moment to stew, which was a bit terrifying. What if they were totally wrong? Then... then the world would be bloody fucked. Not encouraging. Not productive.

Breathe.

Breathe.

OK. Plan for this being right. Make the most of it. He might be the heir without having any special status beyond sympathetic-magic purposes. How would you check? Basic thaum reading of him and the other two, use them as baseline. Sure, that gets active things. More detail? Passive effects? There was the spike when the civilians approached the site; try moving him around and checking.

Maybe a purposefully-weak ward, and check whether anything is crossing it? That would be promising... augh, what he wouldn't give for a magical equivalent of _pgrep_. 

"Schwartz, I checked"

He looked up, train of thought lost. "Yes?"

"One, James Jones, is the seventh son of a seventh son; all fourteen Hull-born and Hull-bred. The other's named Rupert Penhaligon."

"Suggestive. Might as well tell you now: the cultists were confident they had their hands on the no-bollocks _rightful heir of King Arthur_. I'll follow you?"

He inhaled sharply. "Yes. Yes, do."

They walked back. The probably-formerly-rooms provided a bit of shade and a decent windbreak, though not much more. Two men and a woman sat on well-weathered stones, looking half-dazed and all-tired.

"He's the one on the left, Doctor."

"Call me Alex, I keep looking for my professors when people say that," then turning toward the stranger, "Mr. Penhaligon? Step aside with us, please."

The man looked up, raising some chestnut-brown curls off his face as he did, to reveal a vaguely charming but ordinary face. "Sure, I suppose. What can I do to help Her Majesty's... whatever you are?"

"Up, please. This could get a bit sensitive."

"Sure." He rose, slightly surprising Alex by being noticeably on the short side. Hardly a regal figure. He extended a hand, "I'm Rupert Penhaligon. You?"

"Alex Schwartz. Doctor Schwartz, technically, but Alex will do. Let me get straight to the point: Magic exists, and the people who kidnapped you were intended to use you as a sacrifice in some nasty magic. They think you have substantial ritual significance, so I'd like to hear your life story and family history - just the highlights, to start."

"So you're the Ministry of Magic?"

"We certainly have enough bureaucracy to be a Ministry, but no, we're more like the CTC. Though not just for London. I got press-ganged when some interesting data visualization techniques, when combined with high-frequency trading predictive algorithms, injected ritual magic directly into my brain."

"Huh."

"Yes, magic is a branch of theoretical computer science. And we do our very best to keep it theoretical, though that's bloody difficult these days. You've seen it now, so you'll probably be sworn in if we survive the week. But please, your background."

"Right. Well, there's not too much to tell; I'm head teacher at a small public school in Oxford; my father's family has gone there since it opened in the 30s. Dad lectures at Oxford - chemistry - and mum is a research biologist. Four siblings of varying ages, all adopted."

"Sorry to interrupt: are you adopted as well?"

"Yes. I've never asked, but I don't think mum can carry a pregnancy to term."

"What do you know about your family by blood?"

"Nothing or nearly so; they gave me a name and gave me up for fostering when I was about one. Mum didn't care for it; she renamed me Rupert before I could talk."

"Do you remember it?"

"Sure, it's still my middle name: Arthur."

"Hmm. Woods? I think this smells of a setup."

"Coincidences like this do happen on purpose."

"Still."

"Could you explain, or should I let the grownups talk?"

"Give me a mo' to think?"

Alex stepped back and turned around. Clearly someone had meant for this to come up. You don't just _accidentally_ name your son Arthur and arrange for him to be adopted by a family called "Penhaligon" and entirely coincidentally have him be the heir of Camelot. But it could cause a false positive on ritual divination... Balance of factors pointed to telling him.

"Sorry, this is the kinds of brain-melting self-contradicting reliability paradoxes we generally leave for Forecasting Ops, it will drive anyone round the twist so we leave it to the people who already took up residence there. The cult think that you're the rightful heir of King Arthur. Yes, that one. Your life story is suspiciously similar, which means you're either a strong enough false positive that you messed up their detection or you have a fairly heavy-weight magical field influencing your life. We're in fairly dire straits, so we're going to work on the assumption that it's the latter because we're buggered if it isn't." 

Rupert stood there, reeling.

"Yes, it's a bit much to take in. I'd give you a tick but we've only got hours before the army of darkness rolls over us and then onward to wipe out the universe starting with the City of London. So I need you to step along while we do some scans to see if we can make whatever it is you have friendly."

"Oh... .okay. Sure. I can do that."

"Good show. Oh, and if you'd promise not to try to overthrow the Windsors that would be jolly good of you. Actually, no, forget I asked, that might prevent you from saving the soul of all of Britain."

"Schwartz, should I go dig up a copy of the Official Secrets?"

"Fine thinking, Woods. Yes, if you'd please, that would help."

"Explain that?"

"The Official Secrets Act of 1916, Section 3, whose existence is secret under sections 1 and 2. Signing Section 3 in blood is a very strong _geas_ to abide by it and not to use the knowledge covered by Section 3 - that's anything relating to the computational supernatural - against the interests of the Crown. This is the swearing-in I said you'd get if we survived the week."

"Right. OK. I'm possibly the heir of a legendary king and will be signing a contract in blood in order to keep the world from ending. Will you be asking me to pull any swords out of stones?"

"If we find any lying around you can be sure we'll try it."

"Righto then."

* * *

Alex took a look at his detector. Yep, definitely a field, decreasing minutely but measurably as they walked away from the ruin. Time to get a warded circle for detailed study... the van probably could whip that up from what they had on hand. Yes, good plan.

"Okay, Rupert, we're going to put you in a circle. It shouldn't have any direct effect, we'll just be placing a weak ward around you so we can look at whether anything is trying to poke holes in it. One thing: Do not, _under any circumstances whatever_ , touch the boundaries of the circle until you get the all clear."

"Under pain of?"

"Have you heard the programming term 'undefined behavior'?"

"Vaguely. Not my field, I stuck to theoretical maths."

"Well. It's undefined behavior with probable effects on your mind, soul, and possibly body. It _might_ not be fatal and you _might_ prefer the non-fatal outcomes to death."

"But it's perfectly safe if I don't."

"Next best thing to, yes. Safer than houses."

"Hah! Banker's humour?"

"After a fashion, yes."

"Will it interfere if I sit down?"

"Hypothetically it _could_ , but not likely"

"I'll start out sitting, then."

"You're taking this well, considering."

"Was your first outing this bad?"

"No, I got the 'discovering the supernatural', 'getting dragooned into the Crown's service', and 'lethal threats requiring quick thinking and no second chances' split up. Still a pair of big shocks with a little one stuck between, but I didn't get thrown into the deep end right away."

"If you'd care to tell that story I'd love to hear it."

"If we live, we'll go down the pub and you can buy me a drink."

"I'll buy _you_ a drink?"

"Civil servant's salary and a banking student's university loans. I'm not buying _anyone_ drinks."

"...Fair."

"Anyway, here we are. Let's get this over and done."

* * *

Fifteen minutes, the help of some clever techs, and some certified ritual laser projectors later, it was ascertained that:

  * Yes, there seemed to be at least one significant active spell paying attention to Rupert.
  * There was also one that was paying attention to the other two planned sacrifices, but much weaker in magnitude.
  * _Both_ fields seemed to get stronger as the subjects approached the planned ritual site.
  * Bones was not terribly happy about the undertaking but thought it seemed like the best bet available
  * Rupert did not collapse, fold, spindle, or mutilate when put within the circle, even when the warding level was increased to the point that the external effect was greatly mitigated and nearly hedged out entirely. He reported feeling a bit light-headed but in a way that might just be nerves.



Alex cobbled together a cantrip that would track the field strength of the effect that affected Rupert and not the other two, and they resolved to try dowsing for the center of whatever it was.

* * *

"Sorry about the silliness of playing Warmer and Colder, but I do think it's the best way"

"From what I gathered you saved my life a bit; my dignity will endure a little tarnishing."

"Mine still hasn't recovered from telling my mum I was a civil servant instead of a banker. Empire of elves after my blood? Easy. Killing Mum's illusions? Hard."

"Oh lord, I might have to do that myself... "

"Eh, it's not nearly as under wraps as it was, what with the superheroes and the elves besieging Leeds. You might even be able to tell the truth!"

"Even so. You getting anything?"

"Yes. Bit of luck, actually; it seems to be following a gaussian curve along this line. Simple Euclidean geometry, so far, which is never guaranteed. Make a sharp turn here; If the luck holds it will do the same on the perpendicular, and then we'll have just the depth to find."

"So we're close?"

"Impossible to say for sure, but I have a line which points toward it, assuming the pattern holds up. Get one more of those and we'll know."

"Well enough, then"

They walked for a few moments in uneasy silence, then Rupert spoke again.

"So, if this doesn't help, what are we looking at? Beyond "the end of the world"?"

"Hmm. Have you heard of the Singularity?"

"Runaway self-improvement makes everything get better ludicrously fast?"

"More like get _bigger_ ; there's an Oxford don, name of Bostrom, who's written about it. The book was called _Superintelligence_."

"I've heard of it, but not read it."

"Right. So It might be that you've got a ludicrously smart computer with a single-minded focus on paperclips, and then it gets paper-clip-ier ludicrously fast."

"With you so far."

"If we don't manage a save, we'll get that, but with a monstrosity straight out of Lovecraft calling the shots"

"Ah. That kind of end of the world."

"Yes. In our big book of secrets that has the label CASE NIGHTMARE YELLOW"

"There are other colors, aren't there."

"I personally had a hand in averting CASE NIGHTMARE RED in Leeds."

"Ah... the empire of elves?"

Alex nodded, "Invaders from another reality. Luckily their advance scout went native and their society was arranged so that two deaths put her in absolute tyrannical control of the whole army. She stopped the invasion and sued for asylum."

"On second thought I'm done asking."

"Then you're learning already. I've got the needed data in any case; it looks like the gaussian held up. Let's nip down to get an escort before we investigate."

* * *

There actually were several more steps than that; once they'd walked to the camp where the SAS were sitting, Alex split off to speak with Bones. Mr. Woods appeared with a durable-looking form with odd brownish stains, and had Rupert sign his name - given, middle, and surname - with blood, adding one more stain.

Several people hurried back and forth for perhaps a half-hour but assured him that he should sit tight. 

Finally, Alex returned. "Sorry, Bones wanted to check that we had the best intel we could get. Ready now? The plan is you, me, and Sunshine are going to head into the site and see if we can enact the parts of the ritual that make you the symbolic heir of England _without_ the parts that kill you."

"That's less than reassuring."

"Trust me, this is far more likely to go wrong by killing all of us than just you."

"Is that better?"

"Up to you, I suppose." 

"Let's go ahead before I lose my nerve."

"Alright. I'm going to do all the actual ritual-invoking, here, because anyone else here will start rotting their brain if they do it."

"Why are you immune?"

"The rotting happens from extradimensional parasites putting their feet up in your gray matter; ends up looking like Mad Cow. My brain is otherwise occupied."

"I'm going to stop asking questions again"

Alex said nothing, but 'Sunshine' smirked. The silence wasn't broken until they reached the target coordinates.

"OK. Stand still while I do another scan; this should be more precise but moving around might throw it off."

Alex finished the cantrip which he'd bound the previous scanning to, and scrutinized the fallen stones nearby.

"Ah! Found it. Rupert, please reach into that crevice, I'm seeing spatial warping there and I suspect you're the one to open it."

"What am I looking for?"

"Some kind of door handle. Probably. Maybe. Just try it."

He nodded and groped blindly into the gap between two stones. "Not feeling anything... wait, that spot felt much warmer than the rest. It's something like a zebra pattern... oh, no, it merges lower down. I think it's a handprint."

"Checks out; go ahead and place your hand there."

"Going ahead... whoa. Surprise: doorway."

Sunshine interjected, "I don't see anything"

Alex replied "It's got a notice-me-not, I can feel it brushing past my senses. I'm not seeing what's there to be hidden, though. Rupert?"

"It's a doorway, with a very dark room. I can make out the outlines of the stones of its walls clearly, but there isn't any proper light, I'm not sure how I'm seeing it."

"How wide is the doorway?"

"Passable, but narrow. 50 cm or thereabouts."

"Can we pass through it without your hand breaking contact?"

"Let me shuffle a tad... yes, it's clear."

Sunshine interrupted, "I have crampons and a rope, Schwartz."

"What? Oh, to mark the threshold, yes. Best I do it. Rupert, spot me to make sure I'm putting them in the right place. Warn me if I get too close, I don't want to pass through yet."

With a nod and a handoff, he had them ready and crept forward. "I'm going to place the right edge first, near you. Yelp if I get too close, I can react faster than speech when I need to."

"Just full of surprises, you"

"A bit. Starting."

Scant seconds later, "There. You've got the right edge. Move it forward about 10cm and you'd cross the threshold."

"Sunshine, input? Plant it here or closer in?"

"10cm short is a good margin."

"Planting it, then." With three sharp raps, it was in.

"And the left. 50cm this direction?"

"Not quite, you're... ten degrees off? Turn it anti-clockwise a tad... stop. That direction."

""Right. Is it here?"

"Further left... further...close... a centimeter further... got it. There."

"Right. Initial plan was to have Woods go in first, but with the notice-me-not I'm less sure. Sunshine, your call; you or me?"

"Still me. More expendable. In, scan, out, then you, then Penhaligon; I guard the rear."

"You can see the crampons fine, correct?"

"Right."

"Good... wait. Rupert, how tall is the doorframe?"

"A head taller than any of us."

"Good enough. Make way, then."

Sunshine headed in quick-step in, and then to Rupert's eyes glanced side to side.

"You see anything?"

"He's still there, looking around the room... he's saying something but I don't hear anything... he's coming back."

He emerged unceremoniously. "I take it you couldn't hear me?"

"No. Likewise?"

"Yes. It matched your description from outside; there's a bit of furniture, looks ceremonial, but it was also the outline-without-light you described."

"D'you have flares with you?"

"One. Only light it if you think I should come in."

"That's assuming the doorway stays once Rupert's across. But yes, we will."

"If it closes behind us?"

"No way to tell in advance, Rupert. Unknown behavior, rather than undefined, but we're dividing by X and we don't _know_ that X isn't 0."

"...I'm still not learning my lesson about asking you questions."

"For the time being, I think I prefer you keep asking."

"Well. Onward, Christi- er."

"I'm as Anglican as I was before... I'd be uncomfortable accepting the bread and wine, but that's not for magical reasons, mythology aside."

"...I think I'd better ask."

"I mentioned that my brain was occupied? Speed, strong resistance to mind-affecting magic, some ability to apply same to others, allergy to sunlight, need regular infusions of blood from living humans to live. Lifespan of anyone I drink from is measured in weeks, so we use terminal cases only. I'm a vampire, though when the agency discovered us someone was playing silly buggers with their heads so the official name is PHANG with a P-H, Photogolic Hemophagic Anagathic Neurotropic... Gentlemen, or something. They had a compulsion making them incapable of believing vampires existed, so they made it out to be a joke and no one cared much about the acronym making sense. The last few years of my life have been very strange."

"I'm getting that sense."

"I'd be shocked if you weren't. Right, in I go."

Alex stepped through the doorway that he could mostly see and into a room that was distinctly _not_ lit but legible anyway. He didn't have magical double vision of it, either, this seemed to be what it actually looked like. His teeth itched, which probably meant there was a lot of magic present. A large chair that seemed throne-like, with an empty but sword-shaped depression on the high back. Banners on the walls - no way to see what, if anything, was painted or embroidered on the banners, though, just the outlines, but there were four on each of the three walls. And when he looked back towards the entrance, a decorated archway over it. Cantrip wasn't working, either because it couldn't see Rupert from here or because the background field was too high.

Either way, he waved the man in.

"Any stones for me to tug at?"

"No, but that hollow on the throne's back is suggestive."

"Hollow...? Odd, that looked flat from the doorway."

"Hmm. Stand in front of the big chair, please, I'm going to do another scan. For this I think you'd better stay upright, but it should be faster."

"Carry on, then. Should I avoid looking at anything too closely?"

"Hmm. Focus on the wall, I don't think watching the throne-thing would throw this off but _switching_ your focus might."

"Ta."

He took three minutes, but wanted to check more. But there just wasn't time.

"Well. This won't make things worse, except by killing us, which I can't rule out."

"Are you sure _you're_ not the one I should call 'Sunshine'?"

"You haven't seen him warm up to the subject. This is the best chance, but not a fantastic one. _Don't_ sit on the throne, at least not yet: reach into that hollow and see if you find anything, like with the handprint."

"Hmm."

He walked forward, avoiding touching any part of the throne for good measure. Stuck his fingers tentatively into the hollow... and felt no stone there, like it was much deeper.

"Are you seeing this?"

"Your fingers disappearing into the stone? Yes. Go ahead and reach in."

He found metal, and _warm_ metal. His hand closed around it, and he pulled it back, unable to turn the object. The movement stayed impossible until he had withdrawn the sword from the hollow shaped for it.

Alex's eyebrows raised marginally. And then non-marginally, when Rupert, acting on an unvoiced impulse, spun the sword in his grip and planted it, point first, into the flagstones of the floor. The hollow on the throne back vanished, and in the corner of his eye Alex noticed that the banners on the walls had more visible features than a few moments ago.

Rupert still seemed to be moving in a bit of a daze. He planted both hands on the hilt of the blade, and pulled, drawing it back out from the stones. The room flashed with light, and for a second the walls seemed to be a hall of mirrors, extending endlessly with different banners on every iterations, dozens if not hundreds, all in full color. The throne itself seemed to be made of solid bronze, in this new light. Though it faded too quickly to be sure.

Penhaligon stared at the sword in his hands, then lowered it to his side.  
"I believe I got the job."

"Quite."

"Also my teeth are _buzzing_."

"That's probably the magic. Any more sudden impulses like that trick with the sword into the stone?"

"To sit on the throne. Thoughts?"

"Hold off while I do a quick scan."

* * *

"You have the third-highest thaumic density I have ever seen."

"What's higher?"

"Several things I'm very thankful not to have seen in person, the monster currently on its way here, and the current Prime Minister."

"Just the _current_ one?"

"It doesn't come with the job, he - it \- had the power first. There was a coup in progress by a greater evil, so the senior staff of my agency let a lesser one out of the Tower and set up a counter-coup. Almost literally a deal with the devil. Do you remember the supervillain we caught two years back? 'The Mandate'? He's better known as The Black Pharaoh, or now as The Right Honorable Fabian Everyman."

**"Fuck."**

"Rather. I'm pretty sure we're out of sight at the moment, and you're well-protected from influence, so it's safe to tell you. Taking back my comment about the House of Windsor? Not a joke."

"Bloody _hell_."

"Not so far but it's well on its way, yes. The whole world is about 50% transitioned to CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN, colloquially described as 'when the stars are right'. And the density of minds and computers - same thing, when you get down to it - amplify that."

"Bloody, _fucking, hell_. Okay. Okay. One crisis at a time. Shall I have a seat?"

"Yes, do."

The thaumic field coalesced, and some letters appeared on the top of the seat's back.

"Rupert, did you by any chance read History?"

"Maths and Classics. Ancient Saxon isn't Greek to me... Wait."

Alex managed a small smile at the joke, then replaced it with an expectant look.

"...I _can_ read this. 'He who can claim this sword and sit this throne is by the word of Merlin the rightful kind of all Britannia.' ...Also, the teeth-buzzing stopped."

"Well. Let's have a look."

"Okay. This is promising. Let's get outside and see what happens. Test you against the warrant card, that should establish whether we have a chance against Monsieur GOD GAME YELLOW out there."

"Is that as ominous as it sounds? It sounds as bad as CASE NIGHTMARE whatever."

"Just about. GOD GAME is for entities what CASE NIGHTMARE is for events. More or less. The coup we foiled was by a proxy trying to feed us all to GOD GAME BLACK, usually called the Sleeper In the Pyramid, and that is on the short list of things you _definitely_ can't beat even with 'Merlin's word', or whatever nonsense this is, backing you."

"Fantastic. Let's go cheer up Sunshine."

"Don't mention the Windsor thing until this beastie is dealt with. Or I die."

"Noted."

* * *

"Schwartz? Mr. Pen-"

Sunshine's knees looked weak. It was, frankly, a _terrifying_ sight.

"Sunshine?"

"I, ah, think your plan succeeded, Schwartz. Begging your pardon, Your- sir."

"Mental effect I'm not seeing."

"A bit. My muscles are of the opinion I should be kneeling."

"Please, stay standing, officer. Captain? I didn't ask your rank."

"Staff Sergeant. Thank you, sir, that fixed most of it for the moment."

"My pleasure."

"Dr. Schwartz, should I tell Bones you found your miracle?"

"I should probably do tests with arguably-King Penhaligon here. Tell Bones, and send the warrant-carrying gophers to the room with the civilian hostages."

* * *

The first test he wanted to run was for one of the gophers to give Rupert a trivial order. It failed: they couldn't bring themselves to command him. So Alex tried it himself, _trying_ to just use the warrant card, and managed; as expected, she shrugged off the order. Then he tried using the PHANG whammy and that had the same effect - and gave him a bit of a headache, like it backfired.

The second test was to try to break Section 3 to Reverend Samantha. Which he did, successfully. She didn't seem to believe him, but he shouldn't have even been able to mention that there was a secret, so a successful test.

And, to Rupert's obvious discomfort, people kept feeling the need to kneel when they met him.

He brought the results to Bones. who dismissed him to think.

"How are you holding up?"

"Not looking forward to talking with Mum, mostly."

"Fixated on the mundane part?"

"Mostly. I keep having words try to jump to mind. 'By the powers of crown, church, and sword,...', 'Rightwise king of all Britain'... it's bloody creepy, is what it is. Whatever this blessing is, it has opinions on how I ought to use it and they are decidedly archaic ones."

"Would it help to twist them into jokes? 'Leftwise king'?"

"Hmm. A little."

"Given what we know about computation, there's a good one for 'Crown and Church'... not that he would approve, Turing's assassination was one of the first big fuckups our agency was responsible for."

"I thought he killed himself?"

"It was meant to look that way. The assassins weren't the incompetent ones, it was the managers. Panicked and thought he might release the knowledge of how to summon demons with fractals to the public, didn't stop to consider if getting him in-house would be more effective. They went a little overboard in the other direction after that, but it's worked out well for the Laundry."

"The 'Laundry'?"

"Formerly known as SOE Q Division, our HQ a half-century ago was above a Chinese laundry and for some ungodly reason the nickname stuck."

"Sounds like you had the Pythons in management at some point."

"I'd be surprised. But less shocked than I might be. Our lives are strange."

"Hah. I've joined you in that category now, no question."

"My condolences."

"Beats joining you in an early grave. I think."

"That it does."

"Thanks for the suggestion of joking with the mind parasite. I think it's helping already."

"Happy to help, _your Majesty_ "

Rupert grimaced.

"Too soon?"

"Much, yes, sorry."

* * *

Bones gave the go-ahead. Sunshine and Alex on one Vespa, Penhaligon on the other.

* * *

The walking terror noticed them coming and turned to approach. The light seemed to drain out of the air between them, and the two veterans both fell to their knees with the pressure. Penhaligon stumbled, but planted the sword like a cane and stood. He didn't seem to raise his voice, but it felt like he was speaking directly next to their ears, and echoed despite the open fields around them.

"Whatever you are, you are an intruder in Britain. Depart immediately, and do not bother any Briton again."

The sound that came from the twist of impossible geometry and tangle of tentacles that served this monstrosity for a head hurt Alex's ears, but somehow conveyed laughter.

"That was **not** a request. I am Arthur the Second, King of Britannia. This is my domain, and _you are not welcome here_. By the power of Crown, Church, and Turing: **Begone**!"

The light drained from the air returned in triplicate, and the feeders that made up its army seemed to shrivel to dust and fly toward the beast. It shrieked a noise nearly identical to the 'laughter', which somehow instead very clearly conveyed rage. It spat plasma: Arthur raised his sword, and it parted around him.

"I have a country to protect, but I _will_ pursue you before this is through. And if you fight one moment longer I will _make it hurt_ , do you understand me?"

The appearance of wind which had blown away all the walking dead, without disturbing a hair of the living (or arguably-living) audience, swirled around the beast. Arthur walked steadily forward, brandishing the greatsword.

It intensified... and a moment later, vanished, leaving no sign of the creature.

Rupert collapsed, breathing heavily.

"Really not looking forward to ever having to do that again."

"It will probably be necessary."

"Oh, yes, I know. I'll do it. But I don't like the idea."

"Well, all things considered? That's probably a good sign. Especially since it looks like the power we found you wants more of an Old Testament, divine despot sort of king, which I can't say I'm fond of."

Rupert grimaced, but with a bit of humor to it. "Nor am I, Doctor Schwartz. Nor am I. But needs must."

"When the devil drives. Which he certainly has been."

"Yes. Even if it's not expedient, I'd like to stay friends, Alex. You don't collapse when I walk up to you and I think I'm going to need that to stay sane."

"I don't think sanity is achievable in this line of work. But I'm happy to help you stay in the shallow end of the pool."

"Thank you, my friend. Very much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic (or, this chapter, at least), exists for the sake of one line:
> 
> > "By the power of Crown, Church, and Turing: Begone!"
> 
> Which isn't to say I'm displeased with the rest, mind you.


End file.
